


Three is Penance

by Elvesliketrees



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Fear, Gen, Gore, Graphic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Torture, Torture, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3998467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesliketrees/pseuds/Elvesliketrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The notorious Seven Day Killer has once again struck, and Captain Treville of the NYPD knows that he has one week to rescue Aramis d'Herblay, Porthos du Vallon, and Athos de la Fere from his sick games. With the help of his Musketeer team, he's pitted against the notorious killer with no information and no facts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three is Penance

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys, this is the first fic from my AU's and One-shots fic! As this is a Serial Killer AU, please please please know that this one is pretty scary, so do not read if you aren't up for some gore and scary times! This one contains pretty graphic scenes of torture, and also some very scary thoughts, so please be warned. Thank you guys for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Day 1

The feeling was back, the dark tendrils snaking out from his heart, filling his mind, blurring his vision. He bit his lip to contain the groan at this obtrusive invasion, and blood filled his mouth. The salty and warm liquid sloshed against his teeth, and he swallowed slowly. Oh yes, it was time. Three it would be, the number of times he had almost acted on his sin, touching that which he could not. The want to touch, the _need_ , filled his heart, overwhelmed him. Oh yes, it was time. Three there would be, to account for his need, to stave off the temptation. Blonde hair ghosted along his wrist, touching him in a wanton way that made him tingle in pleasure, though it was only his imagination. Blue eyes, sharp and intelligent, pierced his, and he smiled. He watched as the man, curly haired and smiling, left his apartment and walked towards his car. He was alone. He looked back at the van's other occupant, bound and still unconscious, he wouldn't be giving him any problems. With a smile, he poured the chloroform onto the rag and stepped out of the van. In seven days, his desires would be sated, temptation staved off. Let the games begin.

\---

Captain Jean Treville looked at the evidence bag that Detective d'Artagnan had placed on the table and pushed a hand through his thinning blonde hair. "Call everyone in," he said quietly.

"Sir?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Do I say! If I'm right, which I know I am, we don't have much time," he whispered. With a pale look, d'Artagnan fled out of his office, and soon his voice scratched over the intercom. The Musketeers, a nickname that had been given to what had once been the Special Cases Division, consisted of ten personnel. When all were gathered at the big room outside of Treville's office, he stepped out and looked them over. He pulled out the manila folder that had been given to him by the Homicide Division this morning after Captain Gaudet had picked up the case. He walked up to the large whiteboard that was the centerpiece of the room and placed three photos on it. On each, there was a crucifix, plain and unadorned. Whispers and murmurs flew through the room, and he held up his hand for silence. "Gentlemen, for all of you who've been here more than five years, I believe that you're familiar with the 'Seven Day Killer'," he stated as calmly as he could. Half the room nodded, while the other half looked on in tense anticipation. "He's surfaced three times in my time with the NYPD, each time he's abducted three people between the ages of nineteen and twenty, each time leaving a crucifix at the scene. We've never been able to track him down, no suspects, no stand-outs. From what we've seen, there has been no connection with the victims, whether its been gender, school, or living area. After seven days, he leaves all three in a secluded area at a random park, hair dyed blonde and eyes dyed blue. You can all see why time is of the essence on this," he said quietly.

"Has anyone ever lived?" d'Artagnan asked.

"No, the victims appear heavily tortured, cause of death being shock. He performs the alterations postmortem, and lays them out carefully in the park, we've never been able to get DNA off the bodies or any of the surrounding scene," Treville sighed.

"How long do they have?" Cornet, a burly detective of three years, asked.

"Autopsies haven't been able to diagnose a window, but I would guess that six days is our mark," Treville stated.

"And his three victims?" d'Artagnan asked. Treville tacked three photos on the board. The first was a dark-skinned man, burly and smiling, dark eyes dancing as he posed for the camera. The second was of a young man with dark curls and eyes, and the third of a brown-hair man with piercing blue eyes.

"Meet Porthos du Vallon, Aramis d'Herblay, and Athos de la Fere. All three are age nineteen, though one lives in Queens and works at a bar, the other in Brooklyn at a coffee shop, and de la Fere is a native to Manhattan and works at a bakery," Treville explained.

"So how are they connected?" d'Artagnan murmured, "They don't live in the same area, the only thing that's really common about them is their age."

"And that's what we're going to find out. It's time we catch this bastard," Treville growled.

\---

Aramis' head was fuzzy, very fuzzy. His head felt like it was bloated, his eyes were made of lead, and his tongue was heavy in his mouth. He couldn't move, he seemed to be floating in the air. The last thing he'd remembered was walking back to his car after his shift. He twitched his fingers, and they sifted through something wet and cool, it felt good. He blinked open his eyes to find himself in a very dark place. Pain shot through his head, and he gave a pitiful little moan. There was a gasp, and soon a dirty face with wide eyes was in his line of sight. Hands braced his shoulders and lifted him up slowly, and he saw that he was in a hole. It was about ten feet deep, but was large. It looked like boards were stretched over the top, and minimal light drifted down from where the they didn't cover. However, blue tarp was stretched over the hole, though air was probably getting in from the large spots it didn't cover. Aramis looked once again at his companion, and wide eyes met his.

"Where?" he croaked, "Where are we?"

"I don't know! I woke up here, and then some psycho was yelling that he would shoot me if I moved, and he lowered you down here!" the other man said with a slight note of hysteria.

"Hey hey, easy, we can't panic!" Aramis tried to comfort, though bile rose steadily in his throat, "Did you get any look at the guy who did this?" The man shook his head. Just then, there was some crunching, like leaves, and Aramis and his companion huddled back in against the dirt wall of the hole.

"Move and I'll shoot," a low voice commanded from the top. The tarp was moved, and soon the boards were ripped off. A pale form was lowered down, a rope tied tightly around their chest and Aramis watched with trepidation as they were lowered to the ground. "Untie the rope from his chest," the voice commanded, and Aramis scrabbled to do so. Shaking fingers somehow undid the tight knots, and finally the rope was freed.

"Hey, who are you, what do you want with us?" Aramis called. The only answer he received was a box of saltine crackers and a bottle of water being tossed down. The boards and the tarp were replaced, and they were once again in darkness. The world tilted, and Aramis soon found himself tilting with it. Strong arms wrapped around him and lowered him to the ground, next to their new companion.

"Easy, you just woke up," big man rumbled above him, "I was gettin' worried after a while, you were out for a long time. What happened?"

"I-I was going to my car to go to work. I remember grasping the handle, and then I woke up here," he sighed. A small whimper came from their new companion, and he tossed his head restlessly. Leaves were tangled his brown hair, and his blue eyes looked around the hole blearily. "Easy now, you're okay," Aramis comforted.

"Wha'?" the man slurred.

"We're in some hole. Some psycho lowered you down here a bit ago," the big man explained.

"Who?" he asked, a little clearer this time.

"We don't know, we know as much as you do right now. I think it's best if we just keep quiet, there's no way we're getting out here right now," Aramis whispered. It was obvious neither he, nor their new companion, were up to anything strenuous, they needed time to recover and formulate some kind of escape before trying it.

"Who are you?" he asked quietly.

"I'm Aramis, Aramis d'Herblay," Aramis said quietly.

"Porthos du Vallon, you?" the other man asked.

"Athos de la Fere," their newest companion responded quietly. With that, they all drew closer together and waited with held breath for what was to come. They prayed that they could escape, flee this nightmare that was rumbling on the horizon.

Day 2

Treville looked to Constance, their analyst, and watched as she raced over to the printer and snatched a file. “Anything?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she sighed, “None of these three victims match. They didn’t go to the same school, live in the same area, anything!”

“There’s gotta be something!” Treville snarled as he ran a hand through his thin hair. These people didn’t have time for them to horse around! He watched as d’Artagnan led three women into the conference room and spoke quietly to them. One was a middle-aged woman with blonde hair and green eyes, red rims around them and an exhausted look on her face. The one who sat in the middle was also older, though she had dark hair and eyes that looked much like the ones d’Herblay had. The woman who was nearest to the front wore jeans and a t-shirt, her shoulders were slumped with exhaustion and her hair gathered in a loose ponytail. d’Artagnan walked up to him and handed him a manila folder.

“The families are all in there. The one nearest the door is one Sara Daniels, Porthos du Vallon’s adoptive mother. He was put into the system at age five and was adopted at age ten. He’s been living with her ever since. The one in the middle is Laura d’Herblay, mother to Aramis d’Herblay. He also has two sisters, both out of state, who I talked to this morning, neither have heard from him in the last seventy-two hours. Mr. d’Herblay died of cancer two years ago, and there’s no extended family anywhere near that she knows of. The woman nearest the front is Michaela de la Fere, widowed five years ago and mother to both Athos and Thomas de la Fere,” d’Artagnan said quietly, “From the initial questions, none of the three women know each other, nor have they had any affiliation with one another.”

“And the brother, Thomas, how is he?” Treville asked.

“Mrs. de la Fere said that she would bring him home tomorrow. From what he told Cornet in the hospital, both he and Athos were home at the time of the abduction. The two of them were in the living room and heard a knock on the door. When Athos went to answer it, he was attacked. Thomas apparently tried to intervene, but was knocked unconscious sometime during the struggle. Mrs. de la Fere arrived home soon after to find the crucifix and Thomas,” d’Artagnan stated. With a sigh, Treville rolled his shoulders and walked slowly into the room. All three women turned towards him as he settled at the head of the conference table.

“Has there been any word?” Mrs. de la Fere asked, a sense of pleading in her voice.

“Not as of yet, we’re still trying to figure out how the killer pinpointed your sons as targets. If we can figure that out, we can narrow down the list of suspects and get one step closer to finding the one who did this. Now, are you three _sure_ that you’ve had no affiliation with one another whatsoever, that there’s no chance that your sons could have had some intersecting point in their lives?” Treville asked.

“I don’t know either of these two women, and from their answers to Detective d’Artagnan’s questions, we don’t even live in the same areas,” Mrs. d’Herblay stated cautiously.

“The only common thing between them is their age,” Ms. Daniels added.

“From our initial checks, that’s what we figured, but the detective will give you each some paperwork to check your histories, make sure that there’s nothing that we missed,” Treville stated, “When was the last time you spoke to your sons?”

“The bar that Porthos works at is about seven blocks from our apartment. He walks to and from work each night, though he’s always sure to text me when he’s on his way. I got a message from him around three, but he never made it home,” Ms. Daniels stated quietly.

“Aramis called me about twenty minutes before his six a.m. shift at the shop. His boss, Alice, contacted me about an hour later, saying that he hadn’t shown and wasn’t answering his cellphone,” Mrs. d’Herblay narrated.

“It was a day off for Thomas at school, so I decided to get breakfast. I left the boys at about eight and was back by nine. When I came back, Thomas was on the floor and Athos was gone,” Mrs. de la Fere whispered. She sniffled and Treville’s heart ached. This was what made his heart ache the most, the families, those who were left behind. But he reminded himself that they still had a chance, there was still a chance that this could have a good ending. 

“They-they haven’t told us much about suspects, they haven’t told us a thing really,” Mrs. d’Herblay whispered.

“To be honest, at this point I think knowing would bring more harm than good,” Treville sighed. There was no use in scaring these three women more than they already were, not when they had almost zero answers.

“It’s that bad then...has he killed before?” Ms. Daniels asked, almost as if she really didn’t want to know.

“I really don't think that it’s…” Treville stated.

“Captain Treville, I already have one son in the hospital and another God only knows where, I don’t think I can be any more frightened than I already am. If you have _any_ information on who left my youngest beaten and unconscious on my floor and who took my eldest from me, I ask that you say so now,” Mrs. de la Fere stated, steel in her eyes. The woman was right, these three couldn’t really be more frightened than they already were. It might be better to prepare them now for what may come.

“We call him the Seven Day Killer. He’s surfaced three times prior in the last five years, always abducts three victims between nineteen and twenty,” Treville states.

“How long do they have?” Ms. Daniels asked, desperation in her eyes.

“We find the bodies in a park after seven days,” Treville sighed. They all stared at him for a long moment. This was day two, five days until hope was gone. Finally, a resigned air filled the room, and they all schooled their faces. Mrs. de la Fere filled out the paperwork, as did the other two women. They all filled it in carefully, and then slid it towards him. Mrs. de la Fere got up and pulled on her thick coat, it was November, and winter’s icy bite had descended on the city. Finally, she looked at the him with a determined look in her eyes.

“Then we are wasting your time Captain,” Mrs. de la Fere said, “Do all that you can to find our sons.”

“You said that Detective Cornet gave you a ride from the hospital, do you need a ride back?” Ms. Daniels asked as she grabbed her purse.

“That would be helpful, thank you,” Mrs. de la Fere sighed, running and exhausted hand through her messy ponytail. The woman looked like she hadn’t slept in hours, and Treville knew she probably hadn’t.

“If I could, I’ll come with you. I think it’s better if we’re all together, and I could use the company,” Mrs. d’Herblay said tentatively. Mrs. de la Fere gave her a sympathetic look.

“Of course, I don’t want you to have to wait alone, and I could use the company myself,” she said quietly.

“I promise you that I’ll do all that I can to bring them home to you. I’ll contact you as soon as I get anything,” Treville said as he opened the door. They all filed out, Constance showing them the way to the elevator. Time to get to work, for time was against them.

\---

The icy morning wind lifted the tarp and made it crackle. Athos shivered in the morning cool and shuffled closer to Porthos. The big man was the warmest, and had immediately been volunteered for the middle of their little pile. While Athos was the opposite of a clingy person, it was November, and he found that dealing with one’s fears was a much better option than freezing to death. Besides, what waited above, their nameless tormentor, was much more frightening than his two companions. He looked up to the sky and thought of how his father would take him stargazing when he was little. That brought thoughts of his mother and Thomas. Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought of his baby brother, the one who he was supposed to protect, but couldn’t when it really mattered. A wet sniffle echoed through the stillness, and he heard Aramis sit up and gasp.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’re all here, no one’s hurt us,” he whispered. Athos nodded as more tears trickled down his face. It was alright, there was no need for shame, it wasn’t as if this stranger could see him in the muted light anyways. “Nightmare?” Aramis asked quietly. Athos shook his head. He hadn’t slept since Porthos and Aramis had drifted off uneasily, someone needed to be up, make sure that no harm came to them.

“My brother, Thomas. We were at home when he...when he came for me. He came at me with this rag, and I yelled. Thomas came running, and he punched him. There-there was a fight, I tried to fight him off, but he was so strong! He slammed Thomas into the wall, and he went down. The last thing I saw of my brother was blood coming out of his head from where he’d hit the tile floor. My baby brother, the one who I’m supposed to protect, the one who should have looked to me!” Athos whispered, “What if I come home, and he’s dead?  What if I led this guy to our house, caused him to attack him?” Hands seized his shoulders, and he looked into two eyes, the whites of which shone in the small beams of the early sun.

“Listen to me Athos! I don’t know you, hell, I don’t know either of you! But even though I don’t know you from Bob on the street, I know that you didn’t do this! All of this, it’s on that guy up there, _none_ of the sick things that have happened and that may happen are on you, or me, or Porthos!” he said vehemently. Athos let out one breath, two.

“But what if he’s dead?” Athos whispered.

“You said that your mom just went to get breakfast and that this guy came like fifteen minutes after. That means that your brother was on the floor for forty-five minutes _tops_. Your mom would have called 911 as soon as she got home! He’s probably waiting for you at the hospital right now,” Aramis said quietly. They shivered in the cold morning, and they looked at the boards above their heads. “Let’s wake up Porthos and have a drink and some crackers, I think it’s time that we blew this shithole,” Aramis said with fake enthusiasm. When they’d each had a sip from the water bottle and a few crackers (God only knew how often they’d be fed), they looked up at the boards.

“Aramis, how strong are you?” Porthos asked.

“I’m okay, not buff really, but I’m not a weakling,” he said cautiously, “You and Athos are probably stronger.”

“If you could stand on my shoulders, you could get the boards dislodged and the tarp,” Porthos said.

“And what would I do?” Athos asked.

“You can catch him if he falls. He the smallest, so he goes on top,” Porthos stated. Aramis braced himself on the now rock-hard dirt walls and knocked at the tarp.

“Something’s holding it down!” he cried in a panic.

“Shove at it, once we get it off it’ll be fine!” Athos yelled. He pushed as hard as he could, and he heard something roll off. The tarp came free in the wind, and the boards were heaved free. With a triumphant yell, Porthos gave him a shove up and Aramis was catapulted out of the hole. He landed and saw that they would have a harder time finding their way back than he thought. Woods surrounded them on all sides, though he could see tracks going and coming from the north. There were also tire tracks, but what concerned him the most was the light snow on the ground. He shivered and blinked in the morning haze. This was the second day since they’d been captured, and already his eyes protested at being let out from the darkness. He looked at his shoes, and realized with a start that they weren’t there. His toes were red and covered in dirt, and he realized that his jacket was also nowhere to be found. He finally registered the yells of Athos and Porthos and realized that he’d been quiet for too long.

“It’s okay, no one’s here! Porthos, have Athos stand on your shoulders, he and I can pull you up!” he cried. Athos’ head soon swiveled above the hole, looking for any sign of their tormentor. When he saw that Aramis hadn’t made a mistake, he grasped the man’s hand and was pulled up. Athos’ clothing was even worse than his was, he also had no shoes, but he was only in boxers and a t-shirt. Aramis wanted to smack himself for not remembering that Athos had been caught in his pajamas. They both swung down as much as they could and each took one of Porthos’ hands. It took forever to heave him up, but when they did, they all lay in a panting heap.

“Have to move,” Athos panted, “Might come back, might get hypothermia, _need help_.” They all staggered up.

“We’re out in the middle of nowhere. We split up and run in three directions, one center, and two diagonal. First one to reach a phone calls the cops. If you don’t see anything, hide near the road and wait for a car,” Aramis panted. They all took off, stumbling as fast as they could. Aramis went center while the others took the other two directions. he stumbled over every little thing, and the morning was late when he finally stumbled up to a cabin. He sobbed out of either joy or hysteria and crossed to the front. There was a white van in the drive, and he pounded frantically on the door.

\---

Athos ran harder than he ever had. It seemed that the field of white stretched on forever. When he finally arrived at a road, he was about to go down on his knees and kiss it. He looked to the left and right, praying for a car, when he saw the cabin far off to his right. He sprinted towards and it and slammed on the front door.

\---

Porthos’ breathed heaved from his chest to the open air. He was not a good long distance runner. His feet skidded every which way, and he finally broke out of the woods and onto a field. He told himself to keep running, had to keep running, had to keep going. He skidded to the highway and looked up and down it in a panic. He beheld the far-off cabin on his left and scrambled towards it. When he yelled and banged on the door, a man with blonde hair and brown eyes opened the door.

“Who are you?” he demanded in a low voice.

“Please, do you have a phone?! My friends and I were kidnapped and we have to call the cops, please!” Porthos begged. The man’s eyes went wide.

“Yes, yes I have a landline,” he whispered. He shuffled Porthos in as he looked up and down the road frantically. Porthos slid down and onto the floor as the man bustled into the kitchen. “Its just the landline, a bachelor like me doesn’t need much else,” he muttered as he opened drawers in the kitchen. What the hell was this guy doing, he hadn’t even locked the door?! Porthos went to lock it and stumbled on shoes. He looked down and saw that he’d tripped on a pair of high heels. His heart stopped and he looked at the others. There was a pair of shoes, just like the ones Athos had said he had thrown at his attacker. And then Porthos’ eyes drifted and found his white tennis shoes. He had to get out, he had to get out now! What an idiot! Athos and Aramis, oh God, they would have seen the cabin too! Run Porthos, get the cops! Just then, there was a thud from the closet. Porthos whirled around and took a step forward. What the hell was he doing, run dammit! A muffled whimper and then another bang came from the closet. Then, there was a muffled yell. Athos, that had sounded like Athos! Porthos ripped the door open and stared. Athos and Aramis were on the bottom of the closet, staring up at him with panic-blown eyes. Aramis gave another whimper around the gag shoved in between his teeth, and Athos gave out a frantic murmur. Untie Athos and Aramis and get out, get out! He went to his knees to untie their ankles when Aramis gave a quiet scream. Porthos barely had time to reach behind him when a large knife was at his throat. “You’ve been very naughty,” a voice hissed.

\---

Treville’s mind was in a frantic whirl. They had to be connected, they just had to be connected! Where were they connected?!

“Maybe we were all wrong,” he whispered.

“Sir?” Constance asked from beside him.

“It’s not about who _they_ knew, it’s about who knew _them_! They didn’t have to know one another, they just had to have been in a minimal amount of contact with the same person! They aren’t picked because they know one another, they’re picked at the whim of the killer! I want them all scanned for anomalies, anyone weird that was seen talking to them, frequents at the bar or bakery, people who the families might have had trouble with,” Treville said quickly.

“We can start with the de la Feres, their lawyer, that Mr. Richelieu, would know about any problems they had,” Constance said.

“Get him in, I want to know about any pop-ups that he may have flagged,” Treville commanded. They finally had a thread, a small and breakable one, but a thread.

\---

The man was silent as he dragged them back to the van. Aramis had screamed as loud as he could through the gag and dug his heels in, but the man had just hefted him up around the arms and dragged him to it. He was tossed in like a sack with Athos, and Porthos was soon dragged in. The doors were shut with a bang and the van peeled away from the driveway.

“You were all very naughty, I didn’t want to hurt you, not until the games,” came the steady voice. Aramis couldn’t hold back the whimper that came out of his mouth, and he felt Athos squirm closer. After a short time, Aramis looked up and saw that they were back in trees. The hole, they were going back in the hole. When the van stopped the door was opened, the man looked down at them with a resigned look. He grabbed Porthos and dragged him out of the van. This time, he didn’t lower anyone down. He lowered Porthos down as far as his arms would go and dropped him with a thud. When he came back, Aramis scrambled to the far back of the van. With a frown, the man climbed in and crouched down in front of him. Aramis swung his legs out and the man went down with a grunt. With a growl, he grabbed a fistful of Aramis’ hair and pulled. He bit down on the gag to contain his cry of pain, and Athos kicked at the man with a muffled growl. His feet struck his nose, and blood dribbled from it. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled. He dragged Aramis out by his hair and lowered him down just as he did Porthos. He hit the ground with a grunt, and he shuffled as far from the center as he could so that Athos wouldn’t hurt anyone. Soon, a thrashing Athos was also lowered down, and the boards and tarp were replaced in silence. Darkness descended, and the air was filled with their ragged breathing. Aramis bent his head and tried to dislodge the disgusting gag with his shoulder, but the knot was too tight. He felt around for anything sharp, but the floor revealed nothing. He heard some shuffling, and then there was a warm presence by his shoulder. He squinted in the moonlight and found Athos staring at him with wide eyes. Porthos was curled up in front of them, a protector in the night. A revelation passed through Aramis’ mind, and shuffled to be back to back with Athos. Fumbling around, his fingers soon found his companion’s, and he clasped them for a moment. Then, he moved his fingers up and found the ropes that were numbingly tight. Athos jolted once he realized what Aramis was doing, and he twisted his arms so that Aramis could reach the knot. With numb fingers, Aramis started to loosen Athos’ wrists.

Day 3

It was near morning when Aramis finally freed Athos’ wrists from the rope. Athos was asleep against his back, and Porthos was asleep as he was curled up in front of them. With a grunt, Aramis nudged Porthos to wakefulness and then started to massage Athos’ wrists as best he could. The man awakened with a groan, and then he whipped his arms forward once he realized they were free. He immediately tugged down the gag and rubbed some feeling into his aching arms. “Sorry,” he panted, “Just a second, sorry.” He crawled towards Aramis and worked his wrists free. He then began to work on Porthos. Aramis breathed a sigh of relief as the ropes dropped to the ground. He pulled down the disgusting length of cloth and began to free his ankles.

“Is everyone alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” he heard Athos say quietly.

“Same here, you?” Porthos asked.

“Yeah,” Aramis said, “What do you think he plans to do with us. He mentioned some kind of game?”

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna find out,” Porthos said quietly. With Aramis standing on Porthos’ shoulders again, he poked at the tarp.

“Dammit, I think he nailed the tarp down, its not giving!” he cried. With a string of cuss words, he crouched down and was caught by Athos.

“We best have something to eat, God knows when this game will begin,” Athos said quietly.

\---

Armand Richelieu was calm and controlled when Treville walked into the interrogation room at 8 am on the third day. He wore an expensive suit, and one of his assistants was seated beside him, clutching a briefcase like it was a lifeline. Treville pushed a coffee towards him and took a sip of his own.

“Might I inquire as to why am I here, Captain?” he asked.

“Athos de la Fere was abducted from his home between eight and nine in the morning three days ago. We know that the kidnapper had to have had some contact with Athos in his daily life. We’ve already talked to the bakery, his extended family, his mother and brother, none of them have noticed anything strange,” Treville stated bluntly.

“Poor boy, I’ve known him since he was just a little thing, the de la Feres were one of my first clients. As to any strange happenings, I would have to say no. There weren’t any complaints, any calls, any notices, that family is one of the quietest that I have, truth be told,” Richelieu said.

“And he hasn’t spoken to you about any actions against anyone?” Treville asked.

“No, he hasn’t. I’ll have my secretary pull some files to be sure, but I don’t believe there to be any strange happenings,” Richelieu stated. Another dead end.

“Just to be formal, can you tell me of your whereabouts between three and nine a.m.?” Treville asked.

“I spent the night with my girlfriend, Adele,” Richelieu replied.

“I’ll need her number,” he sighed. With number in hand, he walked over to Constance. Dark rings circled her eyes, and he placed the number in front of her.

“Cornet and d’Artagnan are going to workplaces and conducting interviews. This is the alibi for Mr. Richelieu, just be sure to run it when you get a moment,” he said quietly. She nodded and clacked away on keyboard, pulling up records for Athos’ graduating class. Morning turned to afternoon, and afternoon turned to evening when he heard a pounding on his office door.

“Captain!” Constance yelled before barging in.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“The lawyer, Richelieu, he wasn’t with his girlfriend, I checked! In fact, he was seen driving in Queens at two in the morning!” she panted. Treville couldn’t help but stare.

“The other homicides?” he asked.

“We’ll have to bring him in,” she stated, “But he doesn’t have a record,” she said.

“I want a warrant, now!” he bellowed. It was perfect, absolutely perfect. Richelieu had extensive knowledge of the de la Fere family. He had his practice in Brooklyn, which was a few blocks away from Aramis’ coffee shop. He also had an office in Queens, which had just opened, three blocks from Porthos’ bar. A call to the owner revealed that Richelieu had been seen in the bar when Porthos was on shift, and a call to Alice revealed the same. Neither case was frequent, but that didn’t matter. When the warrant came through, Treville went with d’Artagnan and Cornet to Richelieu’s penthouse apartment in Brooklyn, with SWAT following behind, one couldn’t be too careful. They tramped up the staircase and pounded on the door.

“NYPD, open the door!” Cornet bellowed. When no response came, he bashed the door in and flew inside. d’Artagnan raced into the hallway, and soon cries of “clear” filled the area. The three victims were nowhere to be found.

“Rip the place apart, we have five days left gentlemen!” Treville bellowed, “And I want Richelieu!” When they returned to the station empty-handed, Richelieu was sitting at the interrogation table. When Treville opened the door, he looked up at him with angry eyes. Everyone was ready to go home for the night and get some rest, Cornet was the only one watching from the invisible window.

“Can I inquire as to why I was dragged down here in handcuffs?” Richelieu demanded.

“Where are they?” Treville said quietly.

“Who, what the hell are you talking about?” Richelieu demanded. Treville slid their three photos out onto the table.

“Porthos du Vallon, taken off a street in Queens sometime after three a.m. Aramis d’Herblay, taken from a parking garage around six a.m. And here we have Athos de la Fere, taken from his home between eight and nine a.m. You were seen driving in Queens at two a.m., and your secretary stated that you didn’t report for work until ten thirty. Where are they Richelieu? And don’t tell me that you were with Adele, we called her,” Treville said smoothly. Richelieu’s hands trembled and he looked up at Treville with steady eyes.

“Some of my clients are a little nervous about being seen, and so require strange meeting hours. There was an emergency that night, and I was required to go to Queens. Please know that I did not kidnap anyone,” Richelieu whispered.

“The name of the client?” Treville demanded.

“Louis Bourbon, there had been an emergency at his business, and I was required. I was there until about ten a.m., you may ask both he and his wife, Anne, who was also present,” Richelieu sighed.

“So you lied to protect confidentiality?” Treville demanded.

“Of course,” Richelieu reprimanded, “And I know how strange it would sound, but it is the truth. Both husband and wife were present.”

“Please be rest assured that we’ll be checking,” Treville sighed. It certainly didn’t seem like the man was lying, but the connections were too good to be coincidence. Leaving a message for the Bourbons to contact him at eight a.m. the next day, he walked out of the building.

\---

Aramis’ lips were cracked from the icy wind, but they had used the last of the water bottle that night. His mouth was like a dry desert, and he tried licking his lips over again. Athos looked over at him and picked up the bottle. He ran his finger along the inside and smoothed it over Aramis’ lips. He sighed at the relief of the cool water.

“Thank you,” he sighed. Athos nodded and Porthos pulled him in closer to their huddle. Night had fallen again, and they were all practically on top of one another trying to remain warm. There was a crunching up above, and Aramis tensed. the boards and tarp were removed and a rope was flung down.The voice drifted down, calm and direct.

“Tie the rope around your chest and you will be hauled up,” the voice commanded. No one moved. The air was thick with tension, and suddenly, a gunshot erupted, kicking up dirt. “I see you huddled together, now come out,” the voice said. Porthos shoved the two away from him and stepped up to the rope. With one last look at them, he was pulled up. Athos came next, and no sounds greeted Aramis from the surface.

“Athos? Porthos?” he whispered. No sounds drifted in from above, and the rope once again was dropped. With a shaky breath, Aramis tied it around his chest and was hauled up. When he saw the unconscious forms of his companions, he screamed. A wet cloth was pushed against his mouth and nose, and the world went dark.

\---

When Athos woke again, his head was pounding. He groaned, and he watched the single bulb in the room flicker. He looked around, and sincerely wished he hadn’t. His hands were tied above him, the rope above pulled so tight that his toes only touched the floor. He looked to his right to see his two unconscious companions in the same position. There were no windows in the room, and there were some stairs leading up to a door about twenty feet away. The small light gave off a dim glow, and he saw a bench on the opposite wall. On it was a roll of duct tape and some rags, but that wasn’t what scared him. There were knives, large and small, wrenches, saws, a poker, a lighter, a can of something. Athos breathed in a shaky breath.

“Aramis, Porthos, wake up,” he whispered. No answer. “Aramis, Porthos, please, you have to wake up,” Athos said, a whimper contained in the plea. There was a moan from Porthos, a murmur from Aramis. Aramis’ eyes blinked open, and he looked around the room with wide eyes. “It’s okay,” Athos tried to comfort.

“This is the opposite of okay, Athos,” Aramis breathed, “This is the absolute opposite of that.”

“Can anyone get down?” Porthos demanded, hysteria edging into his voice. Just then, the door opened, and two boots were visible on the stairs. They heard the door shut, a lock engage. The boots turned into a pair of legs, a waist, hips, a chest, and then the blonde man stepped down.

“Please, please, just let us go, we haven’t done anything!” Aramis sobbed.

“Oh course not!” the man said in a gentle voice, “You are all as innocent as she.”

“Listen, please, let us out and we’ll go home and forget about this!” Porthos begged. Athos knew that there would be no going home, no forgetting about this. He sent up a quick prayer for his mother and his baby brother. She was strong, she would take care of them. She’d been strong through father’s death, she would be strong through his. He only hoped that she wouldn’t find his body. The man stood in front of all of them and gazed at them.

“Listen carefully as I explain the rules.The rules are simple. You will do exactly as I command, if you do not, you will be forced to shoot one of your companions. Agreed?” he asked. No one responded. With a smile, the man picked up a blowtorch and began to heat the poker. Aramis’ breaths were coming in heaves, and Athos’ heart was beating in his ears. Porthos looked calm, but his fingers shook and his legs wobbled. Athos licked his lips and closed his eyes. “As Athos drew blood today, he shall be the first to play,” the man said quietly. Athos’ wrists were unbound, and he was drawn to stand in front of the two men. The poker was placed in his hands, heavy and hot.

“No,” he whispered.

“Choose,” the man stated.

“No, no, please! I won’t, I won’t, I can’t!” he sobbed. He heard a sigh, and the poker was taken out of his hands. Athos breathed out a sigh until the gun was placed in his hands. There was something drawn out of a sheath, and a knife appeared before his eyes.

“By the count of three, or I kill them both,” he whispered.

“No!” Athos screamed.

“Athos,” Porthos said heavily, tears glimmering on his eyes.

“No!” Athos whispered.

“1,” the voice sighed.

“Please, please, I’m sorry!” Athos whimpered.

“2.” the voice stated.

“Please!” Athos sobbed.

“Athos, it’s okay,” Aramis whispered, a small smile on his face. A drawn intake of breath came from behind.

“Hand me the poker,” Athos whispered, “Please, I want the poker.” The gun was lifted carefully in his hands, and the poker was replaced.

“Count to three before you take it away,” the man stated quietly. With a whimper, Athos stepped up to Porthos. The man gave him a steady nod, resignation in his eyes.

“It’ll be alright, just do it,” he whispered, “Everything’s gonna be fine.” Athos stared at the white-hot tip, and he pressed it to Porthos’ chest. He mouthed the count to three, and he ripped it away. Porthos hadn’t screamed. A red burn was on his chest, and Athos heaved out another sob. Tears glittered in Porthos’ eyes, but Athos realized that he hadn’t said a word.

“Again,” the voice commanded.

“Please,” Athos whispered.

“Do I need to get the gun?” the man asked.

“No, no, please, I’m going, I’m going!” Athos protested. He walked over to Aramis. He knew that Porthos couldn't’ take all of this, whatever the hell all of this was. With a whimper, he pressed the poker to Aramis’ chest. He gasped out raggedly, but he didn’t scream. Athos drew the poker away, and Aramis nodded at him.

“Again,” the voice commanded. Athos must have crossed between the two men twenty times that night, and the man brought a newly-heated poker after ten. After they reached twenty and Porthos’ howl had seemed to reach the heavens, Athos curled up in a ball and screamed himself.

“No more, no more, I won’t, no more!!” he screamed. Hands gently removed the poker, and a hand grasped his hair. He was hauled up, his hands bound once more. He gave them each a drink of water and shoved some saltine crackers in each of their mouths. When he left, Aramis and Porthos were hanging like marionettes against the ropes. When Athos saw the marks, the marks that he had put there, the sobs that he had pushed down into his throat came wrenching out in great heaves. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he hiccuped.

“Not your fault,” came a rasp. Athos’ head shot up, and he looked at Porthos and Aramis.

“‘e’s right,” the big man slurred, “This ain’t your fault, we’re okay Athos.”

“How is this not my fault?!” Athos sobbed.

“He made you, would have shot us,” Aramis whispered. Athos didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Just go to sleep,” Porthos whispered, “I’ll watch.”

Day 4

Treville was at his desk fifteen minutes before Bourbon was to call him. When the phone rang promptly at eight, the man smiled, at least he was prompt. When Treville picked up the phone, it was the quiet voice of a young man. He was forward, but gentle, smart, but not too smart. He decided that he liked Louis Bourbon, and his wife Anne. After speaking to both and a few employees at the house, he knew that there had been an emergency which Richelieu had attended to. He walked out and stopped at Constance’s desk. “Anything?” he asked.

“Nothing on Richelieu,” she said, “No wire transfers to show that he hired someone.”

“We have an alibi, but this is the only connection between these three. Look into his assistants, secretaries, all of them! We don’t have time to get it wrong Constance,” he sighed. She looked at him gravely.

“I know, we’re at day four,” she replied. With that, she clicked away at her keyboard. When Treville went home at the end of the day with no other leads, a deep sadness filled his heart. No, not they could not give up yet! These three people were still alive and out there, he could not give up hope! He went to sleep, images of the previous victims running round in his head.

\---

Aramis drifted between consciousness and unconsciousness as the time slid by like water in a river. The pain burned through his body, a white haze continuously at the edge of his vision. They would die here, he knew, tortured, screams on their lips and eyes wide. He hoped that his mother would be spared the gruesome sight of his corpse. What did this man even want with them?! There was no sin, no wrong done to him. It was only darkness, a dark that feasted on mind and body, that did not give up its hold until the soul had drifted from its mortal cage. Time passed by quickly, and he woke with a jolt as the door creaked open. Athos and Porthos were both wide awake, staring at the door as the feet once again descended. The man had returned. Fear clasped Aramis’ heart, and he wondered what the hideous game would be tonight. He shoved some more water and crackers into them, and Aramis pushed down the gratefulness that surfaced at the water coating his parched throat. When they were fed and watered, the man looked at them.

“I believe Aramis should have his turn tonight,” he said with a smile. No. No! He would rather have the pain, the searing pain, than see it dancing on their faces at his own hand. He picked at the man weakly as he tried to unbind his hands, but that only got him a backhand across the face. As his head reeled from the blow, he was cut down, collapsing in a heap on the floor. The man helped him up and took him to stand in front of his companions. Porthos looked at him with wide eyes, but Athos’ were hard, determined. A knife was pressed into his hands.

“Choose,” the man instructed, just as the time before.

“Please,” Aramis whispered. It would do no good, no good, but dammit he had to try!

“Choose,” the man stated.

“Please, let us go,” Aramis pleaded. The man stepped forward and reached for the knife, but Aramis clutched it to his chest. He had to do this, had to, he would not shoot a companion tonight. He stepped forward and looked into Athos’ eyes.

“Forgive me,” he mouthed. Athos nodded, put more weight on his toes. The man had ripped off their shirts and pants the night before, they were only down to their boxers in the freezing room. With a sigh, he gripped the knife. Forgive me. He drew a thin line across Athos’ arm, and red wept down to his elbow. He watch the red, like water in a river. Athos’ eyes drilled into his haze, and he heard the command of the man. Again. Aramis walked over Porthos and mouth the same plea. Forgive me. Another cut on the arm, another river. Twenty times Aramis crossed, head down, resigned, watching the red drip onto the floor. His mind blocked out their hisses of pain, their gasps, the red lines carved into their bodies. Always before cutting he repeated the plea. Forgive me. When the man tied him back up, his companions looked to him. Porthos’ eyes were glazed with pain, Athos was barely conscious. There was a great deal of red on the floor. He had done this, he had caused his companions pain, had made them suffer. A tear made its way through the cold barrier, then another.

“It’s okay Aramis, not your fault,” Porthos breathed.

“But I-” he protested.

“Not your fault,” Athos interrupted, “Sleep?” And with that, they slept. No one watched, no one had the strength any longer. There was no light left to keep the darkness at bay. The bulb flickered, and pool of its light grew smaller.

Day 5

Treville walked into his office feeling resigned. Constance was still sifting through Richelieu’s employees, turns out he had a staggering amount. He was about to take a lunch break when Constance burst in through his door, wide eyed.

“Captain, I’ve found something!” she panted. He raced over to her computer and looked at a file. “This is Sean Rochefort, Richelieu’s head assistant. He manages all his affairs, gets him things, whatever he needs. I checked with both the coffee shop and the bar, Rochefort’s visited both. Also, I talked to Mrs. de la Fere, and she told me that Rochefort has seen both boys in passing, though she’s the only one who’s met him. He would have known who Athos was, but not vice versa, though he could have pulled his information from their records. Best of all, he’s on vacation for eight days, has been since the day of the abductions! He’s been on vacations for all the other homicides as well,” she explained in a hurry.

“Call the DA, get a warrant, and call d’Artagnan and Cornet, have them meet me at his address,” he whispered. They raced to his Brooklyn home, and he joined his men. d’Artagnan knocked on the door loudly, and Treville raised his handgun.

“Sean Rochefort!” d’Artagnan yelled, “This is the NYPD, come out with your hands up!” No response. They entered the house, only to find it empty. They rushed through the doors, and found neither Rochefort nor the victims. Only when d’Artagnan asked him to “get in here”, in a flat voice that screamed trouble, did Treville’s heart stutter. The detective was standing in front of the open closet, gazing at it with terrible horror. Treville guided him out of the way and caught his breath. Hundreds of pictures lined the walls, all of the same woman. Anne Bourbon. It wasn’t about the victims. The blonde hair the blue eyes, the park for a woman who had numerous pictures taken outdoors.

“My God,” he breathed.

“I’ll call Captain Gaudet, have him send a car over to the Bourbons,” Cornet said quietly. 

“Call Constance, I want a thorough look into every detail of this man! I want properties that he may own, areas that he frequents, bank accounts, all of it!” he breathed.

\---

The darkness still clawed at his mind, squeezed his heart. It was a soft entreaty, a plea for release, one that he could not deny. He gazed at their shoes by the door, a permanent reminder for all those who would forever dwell in his heart. This group was the best he’d had, they made the game good. He hadn’t expected the escape, that had been a miscalculation on his part. It was a stroke of luck they’d each seen the cabin, though the neighbors were five miles out. His darkness pressed in as it never had before. Tonight ought to be the night that Porthos played. Porthos, whose strength was obvious, and yet his eyes held a gentle nature. Perhaps the game could change. Yes, Porthos need not play. A tingle of warmth nestled inside his gut, and he smiled. He could have his fun, have it for longer than he usually did. Yes, this was the last group, he felt it. This would be his final act. The darkness would flee, never to return. He would punish the three for her spurning of him no longer. He would wait for the night no long, he would hold up the white flag, give in to the drowning temptation. This was his hour. This was the time for penance, for revenge for his spurning, this was the hour of darkness. He walked out his door and withdrew the chains from the door of the cellar, he inserted the key.

\---

Porthos watched as the man descended the steps again. Athos and Aramis were both asleep, and the man went up to the bench quicker than usual, and Porthos shivered. It was his turn, his turn to hurt his companions. The man held up a pair of pliers.

“Usually you would play, but I decided that I would like to have a little fun,” he said. He grasped Porthos’ fingernail with the plier. Porthos woke his companions with his screams.

\---

Treville and the rest of the team looked at the scene until the sun began to set. Hadn’t Constance found anything?! As if in answer to his prayers, his phone buzzed, and her name lit up the screen.

“Hello?” he greeted.

“I have an address for a cabin outside the city, secluded and in the country!” she said quickly, “Rochefort has a credit card purchase for a gas station two miles away!”

“We have him! Thank you Constance, you’re a dream!” he breathed. She hung up, and Treville motioned to d’Artagnan and Cornet.

“Call SWAT and check the arrest warrant, we have him!” he thundered. Cornet grinned and leapt into his car. Treville prayed they weren’t too late.

\---

Porthos hurt everywhere, his head was a haze of pain. He stared into the dark room and listened to his heart beat in his ears. There wasn’t fear anymore, just a resigned pain. His body screamed. He thought his leg was broken, but he couldn’t be sure. His fingernails were all gone, as were Athos and Aramis’. The man had broken Athos’ arm, and he dislocated Aramis’ shoulder. The only prayer that Porthos could get through his clouded mind was for the pain to stop.

\---

Treville watched from the backseat of his SUV as Cornet careened around a corner. d’Artagnan crashed into the window with a yelp and Cornet grinned.

“Is this why you don't’ let him drive?” d’Artagnan demanded.

“That and five wrecked patrol cars,” Treville said with smile.

“Number three wasn’t my fault!” Cornet retorted.

“There, there’s the cabin!” d’Aragnan cried. They spun into the driveway, along with five patrol cars from the local PD and SWAT.

\---

The noise, what was the noise? It permeated through Aramis’ mind through the throbbing of his shoulder and fingers. Red coated his fingers, covered his chest, pulsed through his shoulder. The man gave a jolt and stepped away from Athos, which Aramis was thankful for. Sirens. Sirens. Sirens! The man’s eyes widened in what seemed to be fear, and Aramis opened his mouth to yell. A hoarse cough barked through the room, and liquid dribbled onto his chin.

“H-help,” he rasped. With a grin, the man put down his knife and tucked a gun into his jeans. He snuck up the stairs and locked the door once more. They wouldn’t find them here, they were too far underground, probably. Athos was unconscious, and Porthos looked to be three seconds from joining him. Aramis felt about four.

\---

Cornet based in the door of the cabin, only to find that the man had slipped through a window and was taking off across the yard. A dark blur was going after him, and he remembered that d’Artagnan had said he was going around the back. He crashed through the back door and took off after the young detective and Rochefort. He was fifty yards behind when d’Artagnan leaped and tackled him to the ground. They went down in a tangle of limbs, and Cornet rushed forward. He ripped a gun out of Rochefort’s jeans and helped d’Artagnan turn him over.

“Sean Rochefort, you’re under arrest on charges of kidnapping and homicide. Where are Porthos du Vallon, Aramis d’Herblay, and Athos de la Fere?” he demanded. Rochefort only laughed and smiled at them. With a growl, Cornet pulled him up and dragged him to a patrol car.

“Search the grounds!” Treville commanded, “And call the paramedics!”

\---

Porthos’ eyes had rolled into the back of his head a little bit ago and Aramis’ world was turning dark slowly, ever so slowly. There was a big bang, and he knew that the man was back. A beam of light shone down the stairs, and Aramis blinked blearily. The beam hurt, the bulb was so much dimmer! He gave a wet cough when a strange clomped down the stairs, gun drawn.

“Help,” he croaked, “Help please.” The man sheathed his weapon with wide eyes.

“Down here Captain, they’re alive!” he cried. He rushed forward and grabbed a knife from the bench. “Easy now, it’s okay, I’m Detective d’Artagnan with the NYPD. You’re safe now Aramis, we’re going to get you to hospital and they’ll get you all patched up,” he soothed. The ropes came free with a snap, and Aramis was caught in d’Artagnan’s arms. He was lowered to the ground, and d’Artagnan took off his heavy jacket. He wrapped it around Aramis, who sunk into it greatfully. The darkness encroached on the world, and Aramis slept.

\---

Treville watched as the three victims were loaded into the ambulances, oxygen masks covering their mouths and bandages covering near every inch of them. Treville clenched his fists as he remembered the injuries they’d sustained. They’d gotten to them in time, yes, but he wished they were sooner. He watched as the ambulances drove away and dialed in Mrs. de la Fere’s number.

\---

Athos was drowning in pain, he was sure of it. There was pain everywhere, pressing down on him and shooting through him. A tear trickled down his cheek, and a soothing voice echoed through the murk. It sounded like Mother, but Mother wasn’t here. Only the darkness was here. But then there came the hand stroking through his hair, an old gesture that meant comfort in sickness, a soothing presence after a bad nightmare. The murk cleared, and now he could hear the voice. It was Mother! Mother! He tried to ask what was going on, where he was, but all that came out was a groan. The hand didn’t stop running through his hair, and the soothing voice came back.

“Athos darling, I know it hurts, but you need to open your eyes. Come on now, open your eyes for Mother,” the voice said gently. He had to do as Mother said, had to make sure the others were alright. The others! He blinked open heavy eyelids, and immediately closed them. Blue light assaulted his vision, and he moaned. He tried again, and this time it was easier. His eyes focused on the figure above him, and his mother smiled down at him. “That’s good, very good! Just rest easy, you’re safe now,” she encouraged. With a relieved sigh, he descended back into the murk.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to Mother holding his bandaged hand. Everything was clearer now, though the light was still blue. “Athos, are you awake?” she asked quietly.

“Where?” he croaked.

“The hospital, lie still, Mother will get you some water,” she instructed quietly. A hand went under his shoulders, and he was lifted up to a glass. He drank greedily, though he was disappointed when Mother set the glass back down on the bedside table. He looked around to see where he was. He was covered with a mountain of blankets, and bandages were everywhere. His hands looked like two puffballs, and any movement made him want to cry in pain.

“Porthos, Aramis?” he croaked.

“On your left. They let you three share a room, since the lights had to be dimmed so much,” she said quietly. He looked past his bed and saw a strange woman curled up on the couch under a blanket. Her blonde hair was everywhere, and she was curled up facing the far end of the room. Near the middle was Aramis, and an older woman who looked like him was sitting at his bedside. Porthos was at the far end, lying still and pale.

“They wake up?” he asked.

“No, they’re being much more stubborn than you are. That’s Porthos’ mother, Sara, on the couch, and Laura, Aramis’ mother, is with him. I finally was able to convince Sara to sleep, she was convinced that Porthos was going to wake up while she was napping,” Mother whispered, “But enough chatter, you get some rest while I get you something to eat and get the doctor.” Athos allowed his eyes to drift closed, and soon he was awaking to a stranger poking him and his mother trying to convince him that his hands couldn’t grasp the cup of broth she’d brought him. He heard a whimper, from his left, and he saw that Aramis was opening his eyes. His mother leaned in smoothed his curls from his forehead, and he looked at Athos with relieved eyes. Athos waved his bandaged hand, and Aramis snickered. Porthos was up an hour or two later, and Mother rushed to wake up Sara. She rolled off the couch and skidded to where Porthos was, hair eskew and clothes hanging off one shoulder. When Porthos blinked up at her, dazed and confused, she smiled like she’d just received the keys to a kingdom. Thomas joined them the next day, arm in a cast and face mottled with bruises. He pulled up a chair and refused to budge until he’d passed out that night, a silent and immovable guardian of the trio. When Athos looked at the bruised forms of his new friends (their mothers had already exchanged numbers), he knew that he was alright. They were all alright. Thomas was safe, curled up in the recliner and asleep. Their mothers were relieved and happy, and they would all be fine. The darkness had fled.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys for reading, I would love to hear your thoughts!


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